


Thoughts Unforgotten

by cleartears



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleartears/pseuds/cleartears
Summary: Caleb lies in bed sometime before episode 12, unable to sleep and unable to stop thinking. Angsty musings on his past, his place within The Mighty Nein, and himself.





	Thoughts Unforgotten

**Author's Note:**

> I love one (1) morally grey stink wizard who hates himself and is berated by an overwhelming onslaught of psychological symptoms. This has literally zero plot and is just meant to be an exercise into his psychological state of mind and how he thinks about himself and his current situation, because there is just so much going on beneath the surface with him.

He lay in bed staring at the rafters of the inn, vaguely wondering if the wood rot was bad enough that it would cause a potentially lethal roof-caving incident. Not a bad way to go out – a quick death in a bed that wasn’t particularly warm or soft but was certainly warmer and softer than the battlefield or the trodden dirt of an alleyway. Deciding that the rot wasn’t quite bad enough to pose a threat, he tried closing his eyes again. He didn’t expect that sleep would come – it almost never did – but he might as well act the part and try. After all, Frumpkin pretended to sleep, curled in a ball at his hip. He absentmindedly stroked the cat’s fur, comforted now rather than disturbed, as he was initially, by the cool to the touch fur. He tried to focus on the feeling, willing all of his consciousness into his hand, in a feeble attempt to stop the thoughts.

Caleb thought he could stand the sleepless nights if they weren’t accompanied by the thoughts. At this point, when Frumpkin’s comfort failed, he would usually pull out a book and try to read until he quite literally passed out of exhaustion. But he only had a few books in his current possession and he had read them so many times that their bindings were falling apart. Besides, he already had them memorized after his first reading, so the re-reads were largely futile. He feared he’d soon get desperate enough that he’d ask to borrow _Tusk Love_ from Jester –or, more likely, ask Nott to nip it from her, as he wasn’t sure if he could stand Jester’s likely attempts to engage in enthusiastic conversation about how ‘dreamy’ Oskar was. But since he hadn’t degraded himself to this decision yet, reading was out of the question. And so the thoughts came, relentless and unrestrained.

Caleb knew they didn’t trust him. He didn’t begrudge them for this, because he didn’t trust them either – he didn’t trust anyone. What did bother him was that they probably didn’t like him, because while Caleb was still weary of their motivations, he liked him all. Fjord was so charismatic, in a commanding way that didn’t reek of power hungry authority. Beau was too inquisitive for his comfort, but she was so full of life and vigor that only youthful optimism can provide. Jester was privileged but she was also sweet and weird and didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought about her and gave him stale pastries. Molly was nonchalantly the most charming person he’d ever met. Yasha was mysterious and reclusive, but in a way that made people drawn to her rather than distrustful. And Nott, sweet Nott the Brave who had shown her bravery time and time again but thought she had none. He liked them all, but he knew the feeling wasn’t mutual. How could it be?

He had tried to keep his distance from them. He knew sticking with them was best for his survival: in only a few short weeks of knowing them, he had already made more gold than he had ever seen in his life. But while a physical closeness was necessary, that didn’t mean he had to get emotionally close. He couldn’t. So, he had tried to play it cool, just present himself as the poor wizard who could benefit the others and not cause any trouble.

But then the priest had burned.

No, he wouldn’t think about it again. He couldn’t think about it again. The thoughts kept instinctually surfacing but he repeatedly pushed them down. The hand that was petting Frumpkin grew more and more frantic, until Frumpkin woke up, sensing Caleb’s distress. The spirit cat shifted positions and started kneading Caleb’s thigh, grounding him. Caleb breathed in time with the kneading, grateful that Frumpkin was a cat again. When he had been a bird he attempted to hop on Caleb’s arm and, granted, it elicited a chuckle from Caleb, but did not have the desired effect. Eventually he calmed down by focusing on Frumpkin’s paws pushing into his side and gave him a scratch on the head, telling him that he could go back to his pseudo-sleep again.

He sighed shakily, turning onto his side away from Nott’s squeaky snores and occasional worried mumblings in her sleep. He was worried about her, but the worry was oddly comforting in a way. He hadn’t cared for someone in a very, very long time and it was a refreshing change to worry about someone other than himself. When he was thinking about her, he wasn’t think about what he had seen, what he had done. What he was…

 _No_. Pushing those thoughts down again, for what felt like the hundredth time that hour, he tried thinking about tomorrow’s events. He was anxious about working with a revolutionary group but had early on decided that if anything went even the slightest bit sideways, he would be gone before they knew it. He’d try to take Nott with him, of course, and that might complicate things a bit, but he was sure they could manage it. Maybe they needed a new group soon anyways. He would be sorry to lose this one, since they were so clearly competent and a veritable money pot of their own, and, despite his better judgment, he had started to really like them. But he also craved that immediate relief he felt whenever he entered a new place where no one knew him. Somehow, he suspected the loss would outweigh the relief for the first time since – well, for the first time in a long time. But he sure as hell wasn’t getting caught up in a revolution gone awry. So, if he needed to, he would disappear, as he always did. In the absence of the ability to disappear completely, to not exist or exist as Frumpkin did, he’d simply go away, vanish into a new town, a new place.

With time, he could probably forget Fjord’s smile, strangely devoid of tusks, seemingly sincere but with a slight forced edge that only someone as well versed in deception as he was could notice. He’d forget the way Beau’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm every time they decided on a new path to take or found something that promised adventure in the future. He’d forget Jester’s laughter, laughter than never got caught in the throat or tried to cover something up, laughter that was pure and gleeful and full of joy. He’d forget Molly, all of wondrous, weird Molly who unsettled him in the best way possible, who made him want to see colours in the world again.

He hoped he never had to try to forget Nott.

His companions were forever solidified in his memory simply because he had seen them. His memory wouldn’t let him forget a face. But he’d try. He had to try. He told himself he could barely remember _his_ face anymore, even though he every time he closed his eyes he could see it as if he had just turned away from him.

The one thing he took comfort in is that they would forget him.


End file.
